


And A Long Jacket

by kore_rising



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_rising/pseuds/kore_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there were two people in the world less likely to have a joint wardrobe, it was probably them. Or how Ariadne ended up wearing Arthur's clothes, and what came after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And A Long Jacket

It probably began in Odessa. No, he knows it did, before they were a them and sharing anything meant doing so under the gaze of other people; particularly the ever observant Eames. Ariadne's clothes were destroyed in a fire started by their mark's security to flush them out of the cottage where they'd been lying low. He'd managed to grab a carry on bag with his spare Glock, ammunition magazines and all his clothing; Ariadne had snatched the PASIV and they had run for their lives through the fields and into the woods. They lurked there until nightfall, finally emerging to trek to the farmhouse Eames had taken as a base, a good eight miles across country. When they got there, mud spattered, chilled to the bone and with various kinds of foliage stuck to themselves; and the situation had been placed under control (Eames' speak for "calling the client and demanding the extra security guarantee they'd put in place, discussing strategy and deciding how long they needed to get clear,”) the slightly more mundane issue of what Ariadne was going to wear reared its head.

 

"I have nothing," she said firmly. "If we're going to be here for a week I can't wear these the whole time," she gestured to her soot smeared, smoke scented jeans and shirt.

"I do have a washer dryer," Eames replied reasonably, "you can always just take them off and wash them."

"And what do I wear while they're washing?" She enunciated each word slowly, as if Eames had just undergone a particularly thorough cognitive recalibration.

"Well, you could always just go n-" Eames' mouth was curling into a smirk.

Arthur interrupted him so fast he cut off the word before it could leave his mouth. "I have some things you could wear," he said, shooting a pointed glance at the still smiling Eames, "what will you need?"

 

Ariadne had smiled gratefully in reply, and he let her paw through his small supply of clothes, making no comments as she selected a dark grey shirt, a pair of briefs, socks and a belt. When she emerged half an hour later, shiny skinned and damp haired from the shower, with the shirt lapping around her thighs, cuffs rolled up to her wrists and the belt cinching it into her waist he crushed down his juvenile reaction to the libido raising sight of her in the cliche morning after sex outfit. Instead he calmly took off his sweater, offering it to her as he studiously ignored Eames' eyebrow raised half smile.

 

For eight days she mixed and matched her own things with the clothes he’d donated. His socks would peek from under her jeans. His sweater would cover her t shirt. His shirt reappeared frequently, sometimes flung over her t shirt, sometimes as a single layer right next to her skin, open at the neck and offering a tantalising peek at her collarbones.

 

He never told her that he didn’t wash the clothes she’d worn for that week until her scent had completely faded from them; pressing the cotton of his shirt to his nose when he was alone, his cock was hard in his hand and his entire head was full of thoughts of her skin under his tongue, his hands and his gaze.

 

~*~

 

The second time was Amsterdam, and it was ridiculous; a ridiculous series of events that could only have led to an even more ridiculous solution, which in turn led to; well.

 

He recalls it so clearly because Ariadne had taken a three month break to visit the US, and it was her first job back; and it was the first time Eames had been the lead extractor for them. A nice, straightforward extraction on a wonderfully untrained and unsuspecting executive who worked for a large publishing house based in Europe. He'd picked the job from the ones that he'd been offered since Fischer (one of the perks of being well regarded, work came to his door now, rather than having to root it out through winks, nods and sly handshakes) on the basis of it being just challenging and well paid enough, but not so daunting it would unsettle their new team before they'd even begun.

 

He’d originally planned to collect her from the airport himself that day. But there had been a few things he needed to see to, they had piled up a touch and in the end he'd accepted Eames' offer to fetch her with quiet gratitude and strict instructions regarding her arrival time, her likely state if mind and body and how Eames was to treat her. Eames of course had rolled his eyes and sighed in half resignation.  
"I promise to drive carefully," he'd intoned, "not to slap her arse hello or call her shortie, pocket rocket or munchkin and to be very discreet, alright Grandma?" To which Arthur had crisply replied that he was satisfied.

 

The first warning was that Eames was late. _Half an hour late_ , Arthur had noted with a wisp of irritation. Not that he was in a hurry to see Ariadne of course, he chided himself, except for the fact he needed to brief her and that was best done sooner rather than later. Then perhaps she'd be hungry and want to freshen up, so perhaps he could take her for lunch via their hotel (he'd booked her a suite with a marvellous city view) before taking her to bed. Before walking her to her room so she could go to bed, he corrected sharply. But only if Eames would get a fucking move on and show up.

 

He was tying up the last loose end (in between checking his watch every minute or so) when he heard the crunch of tyres on gravel, then the bang of car doors being closed. At last, he breathed in relief. Arthur slammed his laptop shut, crossed the office and all but ran down the stairs as the main door opened. "Ariadne," he started with a smile, only to stop short at the sight of her.

Coming towards him was a dripping wet, shivering and positively irate looking Ariadne, followed by a rather contrite looking Eames who was holding her case.

"What the hell?" Arthur looked from one to the other then back. "What happened?"

"We stopped on the way to do a little covert surveillance on Linley at her office building," Eames said slowly, "and there was a small accident."

"Only because you were too busy taking pictures of Linley to see I was backing into a reflecting pool," Ariadne shot back as she squelched towards him. "You kept telling me _to step back, a little more, that's it and another_ ," her imitation of Eames made him bite down a grin, "the next thing I knew I was lying in a foot of cold water with a bruised ass!"

"You did make a very noisy splash," he conceded as Ariadne's expression promised murder."It's rather funny now, you must admit. Except for my leather upholstery, that's going to cost a fortune to put right."

"Eames, I hope the bill is all your fee for this job," Ariadne shot back then sneezed violently. She was shivering harder than before and Arthur realised he was going to have to take charge before they descended into a full on playground tussle.

"Ariadne, you need to get dry and change. There's a bedroom with an ensuite upstairs. Go on. We'll bring your case," he added firmly when she began to argue and instead sneezed again.

"Thank you," she smiled soggily and dripped up the stairs with only a murderous look at Eames as she went.

 

Both he and Eames stood still, looking up at the ceiling as Ariadne's footsteps crossed it. As soon as the upstairs door closed Eames exhaled in relief. "I swear Arthur, I had no idea she was backing into a water feature." Eames began hurriedly, "Linley was with her boss and some new bloke and I had to get a clear shot so we could identify him." Arthur refrained from comment and put out his hand.

"Let me see this man."

Eames rummaged for his slim digital camera, placing it in Arthur's outstretched palm without another word. Arthur scrolled through the shots, biting his tongue when he could clearly see the glimmer of water at Ariadne's back as she posed, out of focus and smiling. He was supposed to be concentrating on Linley, he pinched himself. He peered at the images as Eames fidgeted in front of him, watching as Linley smiled and raised her glass to the dirty blond sitting next to her, noting his slim features and narrow shoulders, his fine suit and tie, his lack of jewelry and discreetly costly wristwatch. "Did she kiss him?" Arthur asked sharply, "or touch him?"

"I was a little distracted pulling Ariadne out of the reflecting pool," Eames rubbed the back of his neck as he looked away, "her clothes were clinging quite a lot and it was causing a few gentlemen to take an interest in offering their assistance."

" _You_ -" Arthur started to snarl.

"Nobody touched her but me, I swear," Eames said tiredly, "Christ, Arthur, when are you going to-?"

"Did Linley's boss or her friend offer?" He interrupted.

"Her boss did, but her friend stayed at the table. I take it you're thinking he's a new partner or perhaps a lover?"

"Perhaps," Arthur looked at the pictures again, "you?"

 

Eames frowned in thought. "We believed she was single, but this might suggest otherwise. He's too young to be any of her close family members and he isn't any of her colleagues. She must have started seeing him recently," Eames broke off and sniffed the air, " What is that?" He said suddenly. "Did you buy her flowers or get a new air freshener or something?”

“What? Why?”

“Can you smell that?"

"Smell what?" Arthur said with mounting irritation.

"There's something getting really strong in here," He sniffed again and glanced around.

 

Arthur took a breath in; something clean and citrusy with a hint of something faintly floral, a familiar scent that made him feel better just smelling it, something very distinctly...He looked down to the case at Eames' feet, which by now standing in a growing puddle of its own.

"Fuck," he shoved the camera back at Eames; knelt, threw the case down flat and wrestled with the stupid combination for a few seconds before the lid sprang open with a sticky protest and a strong wave of scent. Everything inside the case was saturated with liquid, dripping from the lid on to the carefully folded clothes and personal items below. Arthur put out a cautious finger and wiped up some of it, rubbing it in his fingertips. "Soap," he said shortly as Eames swore again.

"Great, she's really going to flip her shit now. No clothes, case ruined, all her stuff bollocksed up." Arthur stared at the mess in front of him, worrying his lip as he looked at it.

"Get me some trash bags," he ordered Eames shortly as he dug into the case and began to remove Ariadne's clothes, laying them out in separate colour groups. He tried not to linger over her underwear, instead focusing on removing the least soap covered pair of panties he could find then stuffing everything else into the first bag Eames' offered him. He bundled everything else, stuffing her sneakers in with her dark clothes and her leather boots, jacket and a neat pair of black pumps into a separate bag. He dragged out her toiletries case, finding the shattered bottle in the process, which he dumped unceremoniously in the trash along with anything ruined by the soaking they'd got. He bundled her laptop into another bag, noted the books she'd brought with her and dumped them too.

 

"OK," he said firmly when he was done, "there's a laundromat about a mile from here. Take her clothes and wash them out. Drop her other shoes and jacket at that dry cleaner on the corner. Take her laptop to Berkanz and watch him while he checks it. Have him repair it if he needs to," Arthur glanced at the rest of Ariadne's possessions, "I can clean up the rest. See if you can get replacement copies of her books while you're in the city too. Do you need money?" He looked up at Eames who was watching him with a carefully neutral expression.

"No, no. I can see to that. And you're going to...?"

"Stay here, brief Ariadne and find out who Linley's friend is."

"I see. Just one question, Arthur. What will Ariadne be wearing for this...briefing? Or are you going to make her sit naked in that cubby hole while you talk at her through the door? She could wear a towel or a blanket from the bed, I suppose," Eames carried on, "or perhaps you could do the chivalrous thing and lend her your jacket. Or your shirt," he smiled, "or is that too much like a Freudian slip?"

“I’ll think of something,” Arthur snapped back, just as Eames caught sight of the pair of panties Arthur had rescued from Ariadne’s case clutched in his fist.

"Please don't tell me you're stealing her knickers now," Eames sounded pained. "I thought those were all soapy?"

"Not quite," Arthur said triumphantly. He could rinse those out, and they were a fine enough cotton that they'd dry pretty quickly so she could put them on, covering that beautiful perky ass, showing off her lovely slender legs as she turned around and bent over her table, all that fine skin making his palms sweat and his cock hard, thinking of-

 

Eames coughed delicately and Arthur realised he'd been standing stock still and silent, gazing at a pair of small white panties.

"I'll just go and get these things cleaned up, shall I?" Eames smiled brightly and gathered up the labelled bags in one hand. "I'll be back in a few hours, OK?"

Above their heads the shower stopped and there was the faint noise of the cubicle door opening and closing. "My cue to exit stage left, I think. 'Later Arthur," Eames turned tail and fled, his car starting and reversing away in a spit of gravel mere seconds later.

 

Arthur realised he only had a few minutes at best before Ariadne started wondering where her things were, and in that period he had to make sure the alternative was ready and palatable. He ran up the stairs and into the small kitchenette, still clutching her panties in his fist. He threw fresh grounds in the coffee maker, added a new jug of water and set it to brew. He dug out some cookies and put them on a saucer. Then extremely carefully, trying not to wet any more than the crucial spots, he rinsed her panties under the tap, wringing the wet out before rinsing them again to be sure. Once wrung again he glanced around, dismissing drying them in the microwave as too slow and likely to lead to an injury. On the radiator was even slower, leaving him to drape them over the air outlet of the hand dryer where they ballooned alarmingly once the air started blowing, but at least seemed to be going from damp to less damp.

All this left the other problem of what to offer her to put on her— _Arthur swallowed as he imagined her breasts covered by nothing more than the waves of her hair falling down from her shoulders_ — top half he disciplined himself. He could offer his shirt, if only he hadn't neglected to wear an undershirt today in deference to the warmer weather. He could offer her his jacket, except that even fully buttoned it would barely do up to more than the middle of her ribs and would be too large on her in a variety of respects. Arthur stood in the kitchenette, slapping the dryer button down when it stopped, watching the coffee drip, and he had another wonderful flash of inspiration: The singlet.

 

It had happened a couple of months ago, somewhere in a hotel laundry in Madrid. He'd unpacked his clothing to find one of his plain white tank tops had been shrunk by accident, down to a size far too small for him to ever contemplate wearing again. He'd stood there holding in his hands and his thoughts had quite naturally wandered _would this fit Ariadne?_ He found himself imagining her dressed in it, sitting in his lap and taking hold of the hem, pulling it up slowly to reveal her delicate curves, soft stomach and neat breasts...Which was how he found himself masturbating into it, panting her name as he came, he recalled with a half smile.

He'd been generously reimbursed by the hotel for the shrinkage naturally, but rather than throw it out he'd taken it with him, rewashed it and packed it carefully into the emergency change of clothes he kept in every place he worked from. He wasn't sure why he'd done that, except that at times he liked to touch it and again imagine her wearing it. Which possibly made him a deviant of some kind, he decided as he made for his desk, removed the small bag from its spot in the bottom drawer and took out the white cotton top. He only wished he had had the time to repack the bag after being forced to use the spare clothes himself after a small mishap the day before involving a bicycle, a muddy puddle and a child with an ice cream cone. Offering Ariadne a clean shirt and oversized pants might have been a shade easier than what he was about to do.

 

Steeling himself with the reminder that Ariadne was an adult and that if nothing else she was bound to understand accidents happened, Arthur poured her a generous mug of coffee, put the saucer of cookies on top of the cup and folded her dried panties and the singlet neatly in his other hand. Then put them all down again as he hurriedly unbuttoned his jacket and put it over his arm.

He hesitated at the door of the small bedroom, allowing one brief moment of happy contemplation of Ariadne wrapped in a towel. He batted the image away, swallowed so his mouth wasn't too dry to speak and mentally pulled himself into line. But just as he went to knock the door opened and he was face to face with the towel wrapped Ariadne he'd just been imagining.

"Hi," Ariadne's smile and blushed cheeks momentarily made him forget his task, a situation that only worsened when she put her right arm across her body to hold her towel closed, looking for all the world as if she was about to rip it open and fling it to the floor at her feet.

"Hi. I have some coffee and a snack for you," Arthur held the cup out and willed himself to remain as calm and still as a mountain. _A solid, rock hard_ — No, not a mountain, a tree. _A giant Redwood, a tall column of wood, growing to the sky in_ — He mentally threw a bucket of iced water over himself as Ariadne took the coffee and cookies from him, although he did enjoy the chance to admire her towel clad body, hinting at the form that lay beneath as she moved.

"Thank you," her eyes ran over him and she frowned, "is my suitcase up here? I'd like to change."

"About that," Arthur hesitated under her searching look, “A bottle of soap burst inside your luggage and most of your clothes weren't in a fit state for you to wear."

"Oh, god," Ariadne closed her eyes in pain and screwed her face up, "everything in my suitcase was wrecked? My laptop was in there. I got something to wear when we go in on Linley and it had to be dry clean only, didn't it? Shit, shit, shit..." She fisted her hands at her forehead as if she could beat out all her misfortunes, forcing Arthur to interrupt firmly.

"Its fine. I sorted your clothes and Eames has taken them to be cleaned," he said. _Hopefully he'd pay attention to the bag of dry clean only items,_ he prayed. "Your laptop is being checked and we're getting replacements for your books. It was only soap."

Then she reached the crux of the problem, staring at him in wide eyed disbelief, "What can I put on now if all my clothes are being cleaned?" She glanced at her soaked and discarded outfit then promptly back at Arthur, "I can't do anything in a couple of towels."

 

 _Well, except maybe do the dance of the two veils,_ the devil on his shoulder prodded with a wolf whistle which he valiantly ignored.

 

"No, I thought of that. I have these," he extended his arm, offering her the small handful of white garments, which she took hesitantly, "the singlet is mine and the panties are a pair of yours. From your case," he added hurriedly when she raised her eyebrows at him, "They were only a little marked, so I washed and dried them. And you can have my jacket too, to cover yourself up some more," he hoped he sounded reassuring, since Ariadne's expression was a strange, almost wistful one as she took the garment by it's collar and slipped it off his arm in a slow movement.

"Is that OK?" He asked, "Ariadne? Its only until Eames comes back with everything. He won't be more than a few hours. We can run through the preliminary details on Linley while we wait," And I can get an eyeful of you, the devil chirped again.

"Sure," her smile determinedly cheerful even if her face was colouring faintly, "sure, that's fine. Fine," she trilled the word this time, pushing the door closed on him as she spoke, "I'll just get changed then we can start."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Its fine," her hand grabbed at the door and he noticed the blush was spreading down her neck to her chest and her pupils were apparently opening wider every time he looked at her, "I won't be long. Thank you," she added hurriedly and with that the door closed inches from Arthur's nose, leaving him slightly puzzled as he stood on the other side.

 

Was Ariadne aroused by the idea of wearing his clothes like he was at the thought of her in them? Was it the idea of being half dressed while he was fully dressed? Or was she just massively embarrassed at the idea of having to be in a room with him in her underclothes while they worked? On the balance of probabilities, Arthur decided, and also not misreading the situation to a possibly dangerous extent it was most likely the latter, in which case it was up to him to be as business like and unflustered by her dress as possible. Easier said than done, he added wryly as he forced himself to go and prepare for the briefing.

 

~*~

 

Arthur was comfortably settled (or, as comfortably as he could be given the fact he was currently testing ironic process theory on himself by not thinking of Ariadne in white cotton underwear) at his desk. He gulped his coffee and slapped himself mentally into line as he recited the order in which the information should be delivered (background, objectives, goal, expected outcomes) to try and keep himself on track. It took him twice as long as usual to regain control of his wandering thoughts, but thankfully Ariadne didn't emerge until he was all but done, and as she crossed the floor he kept his head determinedly down on his work. _Business like and unflustered_ , he reminded himself as her steps came closer: _Business like, professional and unflustered_.

A resolution he stuck to firmly and determinedly, right up until he looked up and saw her coming towards him. The devil on his shoulder's eyes popped out of his head, with his tongue hanging over Arthur's freshly ironed shirt, drooling and mumbling "hubba hubba hubba!" drowning out his determined chant of _business like and unflustered_.

 

Her hair was drying into a soft mess of waves and half curls that sat around her face in a warm brown cloud. Her face was still tinged with pink and her lips were shiny, her tongue swiping at them in a rapid darting move as she drew closer. Her body was wrapped in his jacket, buttoned to the middle of her chest and the sleeves rolled up, but even that couldn't hide the white tank top pulled over her torso, the hint of a shadow of her breasts pressing against the fabric to create a valley in between ( _his old dog tags would look perfect there_ , he thought suddenly, _in that secret little spot under her clothes, getting warmed by her skin; he could make like Wolverine and give them to her as a promise to come back to her, and kiss that spot before he kissed and groped the rest of her_ ); the slow shift of her hips back and forth letting him catch a glimpse of the white cotton at the apex of her thighs as his jacket gaped around her legs; her frankly fantastic legs, smooth and wonderfully proportioned ending in a pair of small, delicate feet.

 

Arthur dragged his eyes from Ariadne's body and back to her face, feeling the whole time as if he was wading through glue. He smiled in what he hoped was a polite and courteous fashion as he met Ariadne's eyes, focusing on her face as strictly as he could and ignoring the fact that the rest of him was reacting to her in a far more base and unprofessional fashion than it ever had before; meaning he was going to need to stay sat at his workstation for the briefing lest Ariadne catch a glimpse of his intentions towards her all too clearly.

Ariadne smiled back, her eyes meeting his for a long moment, darting away then coming back as she came towards him at her usual confident stride, grabbing a chair as she set her coffee down on the edge of his table and dropping into it, crossing her legs and settling back.

"So, we need to discuss the preliminaries for Linley," she said, her smile barely wavering as she reclaimed her drink and took a sip. Arthur nodded, his eyes drifting down to her crossed legs. His jacket had ridden up, leaving a positively lickable expanse of her thighs clearly on view. He shook himself sharply and began to force out his briefing, schooling himself not to look anywhere below her neck.

 

~*~

 

He made it through the briefing, barely hearing his own voice for the undercurrent of libidinous thoughts running riot in his subconscious. Ariadne had smiled, thanked him, and made for her work space on the other side of the room, which happened to be directly in his line of sight. By making himself look at his desk and nowhere else, Arthur spent the next forty five minutes managing to trace Linley's potential boyfriend back to her apartment building, where it appeared he was a newly arrived neighbour. He was busily compiling some stats, writing up some leads, when he heard a small cough, obviously designed to attract his attention.

 

"Yes Ariadne," he said, and for the second time that day he looked at her and was rendered stupid tongued and headed. Only this time she noticed. And near as damn it blushed.

"I'm sorry, if I'm making you uncomfortable I can just-"

"No, its fine," he lied, "what can I do for you?" _Aside from drool at you while I get too hard to think_.

"I had some ideas," Ariadne determinedly cheerful, dragging her chair around the table and settling down next to him before he could object. Her leg was almost touching his as she crowded up to him, her arm brushing his as she unrolled her sheets of drafting paper in front of him. "They're just preliminary thoughts in the rough, but I wanted to make sure we were working in the same direction."

"I see," Arthur looked down at her hands spread over her drawings, following the line of her smooth arms back to her shoulders, then her chest, then up to her face, looking determinedly down at her work as she talked, pointing things out with her usual firm tone, but he couldn't hear a damn word. She was sitting next to him, wearing mostly his clothes, and none of the bullshit he kept forcing on himself about professionalism or business like behaviour seemed to be making a blind bit of difference as they leant over her plans, her face and body far too close for him to ignore them.

 

"...so I thought we could play variants on Elizabeth and Darcy. What do you think Arthur?" She looked up at him suddenly, seeing him looking at her rather than her work. Her skin started to colour again and she wet her lips as her eyes widened. "Arthur," she said again, this time cautiously, as if he was a barely tame animal about to lash out.

"Ariadne," he said in what he hoped was a calm voice but to his ears sounded thick and gruff. He couldn't seem to drag himself away from staring at her face, as if every minute capillary and eyelash was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen, as if every breath he could hear was music to his over sensitised ears. Ariadne was watching him now, a slight frown gracing her face as if she was trying to solve him, her eyes stroking over his features as she worked.

Arthur knew that somehow he should move, forwards and taste a fragment of Heaven, or back to where he should be. But sitting this close to her, just watching her as if he was trapped in the beams of a speeding Mack truck's headlamps, it might be the only chance he might get to have her to himself like this and he didn't want to do anything that might make her bolt before he had had a chance to appreciate it. Every thought he'd had about being business like, professional or so asexual he might as well have been an earthworm ran out of his head, leaving behind sheer, awesome Ariadne.

He might have been happy to sit like this until Eames came back with her clothes, never mind that if she looked at his lap she would have seen the outline of his cock in his pants where it was hard and pleading for attention, or seen his hands as they twitched restlessly open and closed itching to wrap around a sculpted hip or a pouting breast. He might have been, but Ariadne had apparently had a better idea. He was gazing (gazing, who did that? Infatuated fools, he sneered at himself) at her face, when she licked her lips again, a small smile perked up the corners of her raspberry red mouth and her face started to move closer to his. Arthur couldn't decide if she really was moving as slowly as he thought or if somehow his brain was making everything run at half speed. She tilted her head to the right, making her hair shift and tumble down one shoulder in a wave of glossy brown. Her eyes were fixed on his, blinking in paired pulses then pausing and repeating as if she was signalling in code. Her body angled forwards, her spine leaning towards him as she closed the gap.

 

"Ariadne," he said again, as if saying her name was going to wake him up from this glorious dream or somehow make it real.

"Shh," she made the sound quietly and he felt one of her hands come up to his cheek then her little finger press gently against his face. Her smile widened hugely as she came closer and made him blurt,

"What?"

"You have dimples," she said in an awestruck whisper, her other hand stroking over the opposite cheek.

He was going to say something clever ( _"I know, its my face."_ ) or funny ( _"You mean you didn't know?"_ ) or sarcastic ( _"Doesn't everyone?"_ ) or even seductive ( _"I only get them when I'm near smoking hot babes."_ ) but she barely gave him the chance to take another breath. She tilted his head down as she lifted hers up, her eyes closed then she closed the space between them and her mouth covered his, warm, soft and tinged with Colombian full bean roast.

 

Arthur had always thought that when he finally got the chance to kiss Ariadne it would be desperate, a messy tangle of limbs and lips colliding in a heated frenzy. He didn't think it would be like this, a slow motion of her mouth against his while she held his head in her hands as if it she were drinking from a deep cup. He didn't imagine that he would fall into her rhythm so quickly, pressing into her with a tenderness he didn't think he'd felt in his life. This was Ariadne though, he reasoned. It wasn't one of the hook ups or one night stands or three month relationships that littered his past, this was someone who had earned his respect as well as his desire. She had gone from novice to nearing his equal in knowledge and understanding without breaking her stride. It was a terrifying and beautiful to see what she had become, but he wanted it, all of it.

 

~*~

 

They did nothing more than kiss that afternoon. He wanted to go further, God alone knew he did, but kissing her was such an exquisite pleasure that it made him feel drunk just having her lips on his, feeling her body press against his, her hands learning the shape of his body through his clothes.

Plus knowing Eames' timing he'd walk in the door just in time to overhear them in the bedroom and transcribe every word for later irritation purposes.

The sound of Eames gunning his car down the drive and pulling up outside forced them apart. Ariadne’s smile was enormous as she let go of Arthur's shoulders reluctantly. “Not just me then?” She had said softly. It was the first full sentence she'd spoken since she'd claimed his mouth as her new sovereign territory.

“Oh god, no,” Arthur had replied with a grin of his own, pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead as a plea for forgiveness for having made her think otherwise. “Dinner? Tonight?” He added hurriedly as Eames yelled _“Arthur!”_ from the hallway.

“I’d love to. Would you like your jacket back now?” She made to undo the buttons, but he reached out and stopped her.

“No,” his grin turned intimate, “keep it for now. It looks good on you.”

Ariadne raised her eyebrows at that, but her eyes were dark with promises, and he noticed that as she walked back to her desk there was a definite sway to her hips

 

~*~

 

She kept the jacket. Or rather, it was now hers as well as his.

In a very real sense, Ariadne and he should not have been able to share clothes. To begin with she was a good eight inches shorter than him, slender as a whip and gifted with subtle curves at her chest, hips and waist. Her taste in clothes tended closer to bohemian than his own tailored and sleek style. His clothes should have swamped her, and hers should have been too tiny for him to even consider.

But now he looked at their closet, his clothes beginning on one side, hers at the other. In the middle, the lines smudged and wavered. There was a band of sweaters that they both wore; him over a shirt, tie tucked in and sleek as all hell; her loose and soft, Sunday morning hair and skinny jeans as she rolled back the cuffs from her hands. There were shirts, some a crisp, angular cut that she buttoned and smoothed, tucking the tails in and rolling the cuffs. Some were soft, striped and more gently shaped; he wore those with dark suits and thin ties.  
A couple of waistcoats that he could coordinate with his preferred style of clothing and she mismatched with her own clothes. Ariadne enjoyed daring him to comment on her choices with a raise of her eyebrows, until he cracked a smile and fastened her buttons with wandering hands, knowing that later she would sit in his lap in nothing but this. In that moment, he would undo the buttons, his tongue straying around her nipples and his mouth pressing kisses to the soft underside of her breasts. He would feel her heat pressing into him through a pair of briefs she’d taken from his drawer again, and he would slide his hands under them to tease her, dragging over the curve of her ass to take them back, because he’d only be fair and claim what was his.

 _That’s the beauty of it,_ Arthur would whisper into her ears, _You and me... We don’t seem like we should be able to share anything. But we make the impossible happen._

And she would laugh, nip his earlobes and say, “Arthur, for the last time: two people with differing views on plaid can be perfectly happy together.”

 

Then she’d make him forget that that morning he tried to put on her panties by mistake

 

~*~

 

A/N's  
The title is from the excellent song [_Short Skirt, Long Jacket_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u7aDstrDMf0) by Cake  
"cognitive recalibration" is borrowed from ( _The_ ) _Avengers_ ( _Assemble,_ if you're in the UK and overly fond of fine dramas starring men in bowler hats and women in leather catsuits.)  
I offer huge thanks to  for betaing this for me. Dear one, I owe you brownies, foot rubs and tea for the rest of the year.


End file.
